Get off bus in blazingly hot Palenque town. Almost overwhelming. Police barricades along one road on the way along twisting and curving rising and falling mountain jungle highway while we watch the movie Sahara and notably comfortable bus. Federales looking tough with machine guns. Los Federales. Through Zapatista lands. It all exists- hatred of americans, hatred of governments, someone asks for a peso and then curses me for not giving it up for his beer. Resentment of all who have tromped through this land. Dark energies, arising into dreams. Or was it just from the tacos the night before where we slept in San Christobal? Who can say. Journeys tomorrow into ruins.
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